


Battlecry

by starry_eyyyed



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Max Max: Fury Road
Genre: Adorable Max, Alternate Universe- Everyone Lives, Bathing/Washing, Bipolar Disorder, Blood and Injury, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Masturbation in Shower, Max Comes Back, Minor Character Death, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Tags May Change, Threesome - F/F/M, non-sexual nudity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starry_eyyyed/pseuds/starry_eyyyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spilled blood never dries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Territory

**Author's Note:**

> Furiosa runs into an old friend.

The air was dry. It usually was, but there was something curious about the air here. It smelled sweet, green, alive. Furiosa took a deep breath, her faux arm swinging languidly outside the window of the rig, metal tapping lightly against the hull of the door. She took in her surroundings; the soil here had taken to scarce plant life, but life none the less. The floor looked less like sand, looked more solid and sturdy, like something that only exists atop the roofs of the Citadel and in distant memory. Soil. The Sisters (formerly known as the Wives) were scattered about the refurbished rig. Cheedo and the Dag were taking stock, Toast was napping (even then her arms were crossed, and she had a rather sour look on her face) and Capable was keeping watch, idly rolling around a stone she had apparently found. Max was in the driver’s seat, one hand lightly tapping on the edge of the window and the other on the steering wheel. A slight smile played on Furiosa’s face as she realized how damn near domestic this looked.  
They were all here, with the exception of Nux, who decided to hang back a day or so since he felt there was a need to patch up the Interceptor (something he had assured would take no less than a few days, and it had already been a week) and Angharid. She insisted on staying behind to care for the Citadel, as well as her young one. The other Sisters offered to stay behind as well, but a visit to the legendary Eastern Badlands, an area just skirting along the edge of the Rock Rider mountains, and home to the legendary Harvesters in the center of the Devil’s Fork, was too great an offer to pass up.  
-  
The land became more uneven as opposed to the usual barren wastes they were all accustomed to. The soil, God it was actually soil, held no red tint as it did in the mountains, and gave the impression of a prairie rather than a desert. The rig glided easily along the packed dirt, which was dry and brittle but very much alive with plant life. The look of bewilderment on the Sisters’ faces was not easily masked, and Max showed clear signs of amazement and surprise. Furiosa only smiled to herself and announced that she would go on up to the lookout perch.  
She went up, welcoming the cooler air as it rushed past her, and took a deep breath. The air had become alive; the smell of living things, mixed with dust, sent shivers down her spine. She’d always loved trading down this route. The land was healthier, the air cleaner, and it was as safe as it could be in a world like this, what with Harvies being well known as the number one enemy of raiders. The last time a raid party tried to take charge of the settlement, only one member survived, but he was so badly beaten and carved up he could only pray for death. Furiosa couldn’t help but admire their ferocity.  
Furiosa’s gaze drifted along the landscape, keeping a close eye for their welcoming party. The Harvesters despised Joe collectively- they only held trade out of begrudging necessity. Once the Citadel had sent the news out to all of its trading partners, Devil’s Fork had replied the fastest, sending an invitation for open trade several days later. Through some long weeks of messengers, both human and avian, rushing back and forth, they had arranged for the Citadel to bring guzzoline and scrap parts in exchange for leather, livestock, and an assortment of healthy stallions and mares.  
-  
Here they were, four days after leaving the Citadel, nearly to the Devil’s fork. From a distance, Furiosa heard the low rumbling of the incoming riders, accompanied with gratuitous whoops and war cries. A cloud of dust sprung up in the horizon, and a deep blue flare exploded, the powder-filled explosion looking practically magical as it was contrasted by the bright azure sky above. Furiosa headed down to the cabin to assure that none of the other passengers would be concerned and that Max wouldn’t try to take out the welcoming party. Although she knew him to be better than “shoot first, ask questions later”, the whole experience was intense for anyone who’d never been through it. As she settled into her seat, the Sisters’ faces held a varying amount of fear and bewilderment. Max was by far worse off, both hands, gripped around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened, eyes wide, and the look on his face as that of a trapped animal, ready to do anything to get out. Furiosa had anticipated as much, and held out her organic hand to stroke his arm soothingly.  
“We’ll be fine; this is just our escort,” she uttered softly. She knew how Max could get. The poor man had been through so much that his instincts were rational, but she didn’t want him hurting himself, or anyone else for that matter. Even if he had a kind heart, she knew desperation and fear drove people to do bad things.

Max only grunted, hands easing up so that the color returned to his knuckles, and Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. The Sisters nervously tittered in the back seat.

“This is just the welcoming party; there haven’t been raiders in these parts in over 7,000 days, last I checked,” Toast explained, feigning a cool expression. Her nerves were as frayed as the rest of the sister’s, but she did a better job of hiding it.  
.  
“Toast’s right. I need all of you to calm down and stay in the cabin. They should be here soon enough. Max, slow down the rig,” Furiosa gave these orders in a much more soothing manner than anyone had expected, and the nervous buzz of energy quieted down into a dull wave of cautiousness. 

The thundering of hooves grew nearer with each passing second. They were making great time, Furiosa thought to herself. The dull thundering slowed to a halt, and a posse of about four heavily armed riders pulled up on Furiosa’s side. A woman with a heavy tawny scarf guarding her face and a pair of worn riding chaps, gave a quick click of her tongue, and her mount mozied close enough for Furiosa to make out the scars on the left side of her forehead. Her eyes, one a startling blue, and the other a deep brown, gazed over and seemingly through her. That glare could fray anyone’s nerves. Her hair was worn in a loose plait, with assorted feathers sticking out here and there. After the woman seemed satisfied with examining Furiosa, she pulled down the scarf, and revealed a wolfish smile, made even more eerie by the scars littering her cheeks.

“Imperator Furiosa, how nice to see a friendly face again, eh?” Her voice was smooth and deep, but her accent made her words seem electrified, crackling with energy. Furiosa knew that voice all too well. 

“Vara, you damn near scared my passengers half to death,” Furiosa grimaced, and the woman let out a low chuckle. 

“Welcome to the Devil’s Fork, friends of Furiosa!” The woman peered into the cabin, giving each passenger a shocking smile and a demented glare.


	2. The Scarred Woman

The sight of the scarred woman, working so in sync with her mount was mesmerizing. The taut muscles of the horse's legs wound up to its chest and released with a snap, the smooth circles of its legs, along with flared nostrils and wild eyes was something the Sisters could watch for hours. The Dag seemed most interested in the steed; a fairly broad stock horse with a chestnut coat littered with white splotches on its withers, girth, caskin and croup, accompanied with a raven mane cluttered with feathers and beads. Cheedo and Capable could only watch in a mute daze, admiring the fluidity of motion. And while Toast did admire the superficial beauty of both beings, what fascinated her was how easily the two beasts worked together. Rider, crouched low and taut, ready to snap the reigns and spring off at a moment's notice, and the mount with a wild energy that suggested it was ready to turn on a dime if the rider so asked. That bond, that amount of understanding and cooperation, working together as a single unit, was something they had not even seen with the most seasoned Warboys.

Max had a fair amount of stupor on his face, but it was mostly directed toward the rider. He had never seen someone regard Furiosa with such warm arms, and much less in such a casual manner. Her look, stature, hell even her energy made the lizard part of his brain want to high-tail it out of there. She was a tall, well built and clearly seasoned warrior. Her skin, or what was showing, was gnarled on her most of her left arm, evident burn scars. There were three jagged lines on the right side of her face, and two more of the left. The lines sunk into her face, just a few shades lighter than her brown skin, and the gashes were clearly old. Her voice was deep and authoritative and, he would die before he would admit it to anyone else, but it sent shivers down his spine. She reminded him of summer rainstorms, something beautiful and terrifying all in one, her voice a rumble of thunder and her eyes a crack of lightening.

-

The rig's cabin had quieted down since the posse had arrived in a cloud of dust with rearing horses and brazen riders. A couple of the riders were topless, with only a few rags around their necks, proudly displaying scars and ink. Max, as long as he had lived, barely acknowledged it, and Furiosa and the Sisters were accustomed to breasts, so nothing was really too shocking. Max only averted his eyes when the riders were bouncing in the saddle, purely out of modesty. How he managed to retain a sense of that was beyond Furiosa. It was as close to silent as it would get with a group of rowdy rough-riders escorting a war rig as it would get. Cheedo broke the silence.

"How do you know that woman so well?" She was no longer a frail thing, with her face worn down by labor and the sun, her hair held back by her Vuvalini hair piece, and in working clothes, she looked much much less like the "desert flower" that she was in dirty linens, and much more like a laborer. She had grown so much from the Coup of Joe, and had becoming a better linguist than most,became far more sociable than she used to be and won people over quickly. Furiosa knew this, and couldn't help the wave of pride that washed over her.

"An old trade partner. 'Traded for livestock for a while, and saplings," she replied, keeping her body turned to the road and her eyes wandered to the side.

"We've never seen any logos or anythin' around the Citadel while that greasy schlanger was alive, how'd ya get to know her so well? 'Never heard of many trade runs to the 'Devils Fork'," The Dag quirked her head, limp strand of white hair fell around her face.

"Joe always kept the trading hush-hush, he didn't want people to know there was a better town with water and food, he knew that if the people knew, they would turn tail and we would be left with nothing more than some rocks and half-lives. Never knew why power was so important to him," Furiosa added and Toast nodded, she was the Knowing for a reason. She hated Joe with every fiber of her being, but she understood his tactics and the world better than any of the other Sisters, and even Furiosa. The cabin fell into an odd silence. 

"She sounded different, at least from anyone I've ever heard," Capable remarked as she began twisting her hair into braids.

"Think it was one of those old tongues. Miss Giddy told us 'bout those, 'member?" The Dag offered.

"She's a native Persian speaker, if you want to know so badly," Furiosa chided without looking over he shoulder. 

"Persian?" Max had to ask, his head tilting and his gravely voice coming out much lower than Furisoa had expected.

"Hmm," Furiosa nodded "Also, apparently she knows Buzzard tongue. Was born in an old country, Iran, moved halfway 'cross the world for money problems in the time Before."

"She's from before? She doesn't look half as old as the Vuvalini or Miss Giddy," Toast questioned.

"War happened when she was young, just a Pup really. I won't say much more, though, you can ask her if you want to know anything," Furiosa eased the rig to a stop in front of a stone building, at least six levels high, made of varying stone and several horses tethered outside, and the bustle of the inside was audible from inside the cab. All seven of them clambered out of the cabin, stretching their stiff limbs and joins, while the scarred woman, Vara, made her way over to Furiosa. 

"You all must be dead tired! Come in and we can get you cleaned up, we can talk trade tomorrow," the woman, Vara, grinned and placed a had on Furiosa's shoulder, and now they all had a better look at her.

She was missing a finger on her right hand and two on her left (both had prosthetics made from scavenged parts), she wore a loose threadbare shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, dusty goggled nestled into the fabric of he scarf, a worn and tanned hide vest, and dusty working boots boots. From close inspection, only a person who had scrounged out in the wastes for long enough could tell she was armed to the teeth, with only one blade immediately noticeable, a hefty hunting knife with an antler handle strapped to her thigh and hip. She bore the tell-tale signs of a warrior, with broad shoulders and her forearms , shaped by years of labor, covered in dark hairs and several tiny scars around her knuckles. 

She was striking to say the least, and after barking some orders, her posse herded them into what could be called a commons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet to be Beta'd but damn this is so much fun!! Two chapters in one day hell yea go me,,


	3. Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rather rude to not to care for your trade partners, isn't it?"
> 
> AKA: The gang gets a nice meal and a good washing because four days on the road can leave you feeling nasty, and Vara is a surprisingly good host.
> 
> This chapter is going to be longer than the rest, just a heads up!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm usually going to post un-beta'd chapters because my wonderful sister does in fact have a life outside beta-ing and so it might take a while,,,
> 
> Also, there is going to be non-sexual nudity so none of the fun stuff yet :,,( ,, we'll get there I promise,,

The inside of the commons is vibrant, a buzzing energy present in the many voices that wafted through the air, speaking in tongues presumed long forgotten. There are ensembles of topless warriors, similar to two of the rigs’ escorts, though they seemed to be more seasoned than the other riders. Their skin, worn and sun dried with clashing tattoo and warpaint color providing and overstimulating sight. They topless women sat around a table, smoking what was the unmistakable stench of tobacco and lounging about, drinking what looked like the moonshine found in Bartertown. There were other outfits of course, a few buzzard headdress here and there, people adorned in simple, working rags, and those who carried most of what they had; the swagmen. What Max had not anticipated was how many women were in the building. The number showed an obvious imbalance, with only several men littering about. Not that Max minded really, as he had grown closer to the Sisters and Furiosa, he grew accompanied to female presence, and how much more relaxing it was. But even so, the sheer number of this many people in so large of a space sent his heart into erratic beating, his mind and pulse racing as memories of fights, deaths and blood curdling screams ripped through the fabric of his mind. Furiosa noticed this, and gently gripped his forearm, in as comforting a manner as her prosthetic would allow. The rush of cold accompanied with the discomfort of the metal digging into his skin brought him back, at least most of him, with his gaze no longer that of a feral animal. She nodded to Max as he began to take deeper breaths, forcing him mind to slow as all six guests were brought to a dusty table. Mad was squished between Cheedo and Furiosa strategically, since they all knew how he felt about crowded space and figured that he should at least be nestled next to the two who could comfort him the easiest. 

Vara, after making some odd hand motion to a barkeep, strode over to an empty chair and plopped down, devilish smile still plastered on.  
“You all must be starving! Rumor has it you eat only greens back at the Citadel, time for some real food, eh?” She snarked, removing her vest and scarf in three fluid movements.

“Tonight, I wish to welcome all of you as guests of honor, you have your fill of drink and food and a change of clothes if is needed,” she said after a platter full of roasted animal (neither Max nor Furiosa knew or cared which it was), several loaves of bread, a chilled jug of water and various fruits and stewed veggies was set on the table. Max could feel his mouth water at the mere sight of it.

“Oh my, this is really too much,” Cheedo remarked, a bit surprised at the surplus. 

“Yes, we’re only staying for a few days, there’s no need to waste so much food,” Furiosa added, inspecting her cup before pouring herself of good amount of water.

“Waste? We have plenty of food to spare; in case you haven't noticed, the land is fertile here, thanks to all the horse and cow shit, we can grow enough to feed everyone,” Vara replied smoothly, filling a wooden cup with water and grabbing a plate for herself. 

“Are you sure?” Capable asked, picking a bit at what looked like a liver and a shoulder.

“Positive. Dig in girlies,” Vara remarked, and began eating as though she would never eat again. That was something Max noticed they shared as he dug in hungrily to a crisp leg, enjoying far too much the juice that he strung from the meat, and shoveled a handful of stewed carrots and yams into his mouth. The Sisters ate a bit more gracefully, seeing as they were raised with proper table manners thanks to Miss Giddy, and Furiosa ate heartily, though not nearly enjoying the meal as much as Vara or Max. 

-

There was idle chatter among the group once supper was finished, and Toast and Vara clicked instantaneously, excitedly chatting about various weapon modifications and their practicality while Max digested his food, content to listen. The Sisters took quite a shining to the scarred woman, asking her nonstop questions about the settlement as Future kicked back a mug of moonshine.  
It was a few hours after they had initially arrived when people began filtering out of the commons and Max could appreciate the interior. The whole place was lit mostly by electricity, although there was a well used fire pit in the center and on the west wall, and there were pots and assorted containers with various plant life sprouting, as well as woven rugs and animal skins strewn about the floor. The room was filled a reddish hue of light,and the furniture mostly dark wood, assortments of tables made from scrap, and blankets tucked into every nook and crevice that suggested this could be used as a sleeping area when everything else was at maximum capacity.

Max thought it was cozy.

-

Vara had led them on a quick tour of the settlement, pointing out areas of interest like the stables, armory, greenhouse, and pasture, as well as the mess hall, baths and sleeping quarters. Things were running smoothly, from what Max could tell, seeing as the citizens were better fed, cared for, and occupied than any of the former Wretched (now known simply as the people), and Max had to admire the leadership of the Devil's Fork. Evidently, it was led by four elected officials, Vara being one of them, and each official cared for different aspects of the settlement. Vara dealt with battle and transport. Serpent, a kind looking woman with a mane of coarse hair and a pleasant, smooth voice and bright smile, was head of agriculture and stock. Ammi, a lanky and curious creature with a gap in their smile, a shaved head and smeared with an usual amount of grease, dealt with mechanics and survey. Finally, a rotund, stoic woman by the name Em dealt with health and manual labor. They'd taken a liking to the Sisters, and surprisingly enough, to Max.

After a quick snippet of conversations of water rations, the best fertilizer mixture to use when growing starch, how to care for leather, and a few other topics that floated about, the group, aside from the other three officials, was led to the bath house.

"I figure after four days on-route here, you need a bathing, right?" Vara quirked, whether it was directed to Max of Furiosa was unclear, but it was answered with a soft grunt from Max.

"Mhhm. 'Could say that again."

"Well, rather rude to not care for your trade partners, isn't it? Come with me," Vara led them into a large dome-like building, with curtian covered windows, adobe walls and steam rising from the center, air heavy, humid and warm, and a large washing basin with a few washboards set aside.

"You can strip here and clean your clothes, we can provide you with some slacks and a sark," she began removing her boots, chaps and blouse.

"Where are we s'posed to wash?" Toast asked while undoing her belt, the soft thud of her daks falling to the floor audible.

"Next room over. Might be a few people here and there, but you should be fairly alone, that is, unless ya' want to use the private baths," when she said this, she glanced over to Max, who was obviously the most uncomfortable with this situation, and quirked an eyebrow.

"You don't have to bathe here Max, if you don't want too. I can send some soap and rags in with you if it's wha' you want," She was speaking in a softer,even tone, almost as if shushing a frightened horse, and even though she was now almost completely naked with the exception for a pair of underthings, she seemed to be the one in control of the situation, but Max was glad she understood his discomfort.

" 'D Be nice," He muttered, his voice coming out rough and deeper than he'd meant it to be.

"Right, be back in a minute," She ducked under a sun-faded shower curtain and emerged a few moments later, with presumably a bar of soap in wax paper and some clean rags, faded and worn down, but clean. Max took these gratefully, his head ducking a bit lower as thanks, and allowed himself to be herded into a private bathing stall. With a nod of her head, Vara gestured for Furiosa to go with him, and handed her a straightedge.

"You two trust each other, I'm guessin' enough for you to trim that mane of his, right? Make sure he's cleaned properly, all that jazz, washing behind ears and so." Furiosa nodded and flicked open the blade to inspect it's condition. From the wear and tear of the blade, she knew that cropping hair was not it's only use.

"I'll fetch you all some fresh clothes after I wash up, and I recommend that that you soak for a while. We got plenty o' soap to go around, so make sure that you wash up, I won't have you lot stinkin' up the commons," Vara teased, removing the last bit of clothing before disappearing into the adjacent showers.

Toast, being the graceful spirit she is, promptly stuck her head under her arm and took an audible whiff.

"FUCKS' SAKE," she exclaimed, nearly retching. Capable did took a sniff herself, making a sour face in agreement with Toast.

"We smell like three week dead corpse," she nodded and grabbed a bucket of rags and some soap, and made her way over to the showers. The rest of the Sisters did so, picking up a few towels and sweet smelling soapy water buckets, heading off to shower. Furiosa only took another bar of the soap, two more rags and a brush, along with the straight razor Vara granted her, and ducked into the alcove where Max sat patiently. He was stripped of his clothes, and the visible line of tan and grime was a good indicator of how long it had been since he had a proper washing. As with most people, his body was covered in coarse hair, and the dark curls from between his legs seemed to only stretch up and up, intertwining and spreading about his skin, as if they were tiny sprouts that sprung up along his navel and chest. She would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the sight. Alas, they both did smell like a rotting corpse that was left washed up on a beach, so bigger tasks were at hand.

She set the rags down, and turned the nozzle (which appeared to be a repurposed gear), a stream of ice water shot out of the rusty faucet above them, drawing a surprised yelp from Max. She waited until the water was an acceptable temperature, and removed her clothes (which were really only some ratty underwear and a tank top two sizes too small, but it's what she had), wringing them under the water while a very present waterfall of rust colored water ran out and down into the drain. The tiny showering space was mostly bronze clay, with a wooden bench and sun bleached bucket to provide to the "desert wasteland atmosphere", but neither party could bring themselves to complain, because the feeling of nearly scalding water felt wondrous as their tired muscles relaxed, and layer by layer of dirt washed away. After a good few minutes of standing under the stream like content dogs, Furiosa set to work on shearing off Max's scruff and any tufts of hair that stuck out too much, lathering him with sweet, floral smelling soap, and gliding the blade over the rough skin. When she was done, she took a step back, or as much as the alcove allowed her too, and admired her work. He certainly would get second looks around these parts. Handsome, healthy males were in scarce supply.

Max then took a rag in his hand, dunking it into the basin of soapy water, and worked carefully, almost gingerly across Furiosa's skin, stopping short of the center of her breasts and her crotch. While he knew she could handle anything life threw at her, including rougher scrubbing, he chose to work gently, as an act of kindness and respect. Also maybe, just maybe, he did it out of love. It had been so long since either of them had felt anything close to love, they seemed to agree that they should figure their relationship out when the possibility of perishing from dehydration or hunger was no longer their main concern. Once they figure out how to survive with each other, then they can truly begin living.

-

The whole process was excruciatingly slow. Max lathering her back, her arms, her stomach, shoulders, legs, for V8's sake even her feet, then carefully washing it off, but Furiosa found an odd comfort in it. She wasn't used to quiet nights, with gentle touches and warm water and soap, with the dizzying smell of roses clouding her mind, and a man who had almost left her for dead was scrubbing her back. So, she sat still, enjoying the sounds of the waters' muffled running in the next room, and Max's soft humming of a song from long before the wars. It was nice, she had to admit.

His broad hands roamed across her scarred back, his smell of dust and motor oil mingled with the sweet scent of the rose soap. Furiosa shut her eyes and let herself lean into Max's touch, a soft sigh escaped her lips. Max went from scrubbing to massaging, his calloused fingers working into the terse muscles of her back. He slowly leaned in from time to time and pressed gentle kisses to the nape of her neck, his plump lips ghosting over her skin and mumbling sweet nothings, and sweet kisses that just about made Furiosa melt. A soft blush crept across Max's face, because although he didn't think they would be doing anything lewd in such a space, a tiny part of his mind had taken her reactions and blown the situation out of proportion. He shook his head, as if to physically throw the thoughts out of his mind, and went back to work. 

They spent half an hour in the shower, scrubbing and massaging, and washing off days of dirt and sweat. The end result was two sweet smelling road warriors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALLLLRIGHT
> 
> knocked another chapter out, and I don't want to spoil anything but next chapter will involve sleeping (not in that way u sinners), more nudity (bc it's the end of the world who cares if ur titties are out???? not me) and either angst or fluff I haven't decided yet wow great planning skills,,


	4. Festivities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the arrival of trading partners is certain to be festive.

The air was clear at night. The poignant smell of dust and sand no longer clouded Max's lungs, and the cool air was welcoming. The desert was blanketed in darkness, but here in the settlement, there were fires aplenty, illuminating the dirt walkways and giving the area a soft, comforting glow. The rich scent of burning wood and smoke mixed with the sweet rose soap. As the wind wafted over him, Max felt his damp hair cool, beads of now chilled water dripped down his back and on his face. He was given a spare change of clothes after his shower; a wool lined jacket, worn working slacks, a shirt a few sizes too small, and boots just a size too big, but Max found no reason to complain, they were warm after all. He was drifting about the streets, taking in the smells of the different shops and the market, the sight of the verdant plant life that sprung up where ever it had the chance, and following the sound of gleeful whoops and hollers accompanied by the brassy sound of strings and the deep vibrations of drums.

He eventually wandered into an open area where a bonfire was raging and there was a whirlwind of bright fabrics and moving limbs. The dancers around the open flames twirled about, scarves and handkerchiefs were spun and wrung around, and the metallic clattering of jewelry and tambourines gave the scene a loud and explosive aura. Several dancers were in skirts or bright wraps and little else, dancing and pouncing amongst others and crying out happily. Max wasn't sure if this was a normal thing in the Devil's Fork, but he had never seen anything so dazzling in his entire life.

The air here was heavy with the smell of incense, smoke, and burning herbs. Hoards of bodies, some donned in bright garments laden with feathers and beads, some only in robes and tunics, all dancing jovially. Some, obviously more flexible and experienced dancers, twirled about, leaping through the air, rattling metal cuffs and coin-embezzled garments, bodies painted brightly in reds and oranges and white. There were several dogs running about as well, taking part in the festivities, yipping and barking and even taking excited nips and dancers ankles. Max only stood there, frozen in place with wonder when he noticed a familiar figure approaching him. It was adorned with a russet robe, dark teal dress that was cinched at the waist by rope, and a certain tawny scarf. It was Vara. Her hair was no longer in its plait, but hung down in damp tendrils, with a few feathers still braided in, and a joyous look in her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, sweat clung to her brow and she was panting, but the anxious movements of her hands suggested that she had only stopped dancing to visit with Max, and that she had every intention of getting back to her previous celebration as quickly as possible, with or without him. 

"Wanna dance?" She held her hand out, and the look in her eyes said 'you'd be crazy not to'. He nodded, because how often do you have a chance to celebrate so freely and uninhibitedly in a world like this? So she took his hand, placed a navy blue rag in it, and brought him into the crowd, laughing wildly. She began dancing, feet and hips moving seemingly on their own and hands making odd, mystical motions. He had only seen dancing as such in the time Before, in foreign movies and when drunks danced atop bars to disco ballads. He began replicating her movements, only with much less skill, and as the music carried on, he found himself losing track of all thought. The only thing he knew was here, in this moment, with a sea of fabric and bodies, living, breathing bodies that were singing in dead languages and laughter filled his lungs, for the first time in so long. There was no danger now, no ghosts, nothing but music and dance. He sped up, twirling and whirling and swinging and swaying, in tune with Vara's movements. He saw laughter bubble up in her throat and fall out, and couldn't help but admire the beauty of the situation. A mess of strangers, all dancing randomly to the beat of drums and the pluck of guitars and lutes, everyone free and happy, and here he was in the center of it, smiling like a madman and dancing with a woman he had only met that day. He never in his life would have thought he would experience the magic of dancing near a bonfire in the desert, with the sky above them twinkling with satellites and stars. All he could do at that moment was link his rag under Vara's and dance and spin.

-

He had eventually danced his way to the edge of the circle, where a tired looking Furiosa sat watching the Sisters leap and twirl, a small smile on her face. She only had on a simple beige tunic and similar cotton pants, and she was barefoot. Her hair, which she kept cropped short simply because she saw no reason to grow it out, was glistening in the fire light, her eyes no longer sharp and weary, but content. She was glorious. Max settled down beside her, kicking up a bit of dust as he got comfortable on the rock she was situated on. He leaned over to rest his body next to hers, their arms touching. She still smelt of dust, although it was much more subtle now.

"Had fun dancing with her?' She asked, amused, scanning his face with one eye as her stump rested on his shoulder. Max nodded.

"She's good," he felt a bit bashful, but it was only dancing. But he had only been so relaxed and happy before with Furiosa, a tiny, illogical part of him feared that she would be jealous. Furiosa was not the jealous type, she was protective no doubt about that, but she was a grown woman who understood that a bit of dancing and fun would do Max well.

"I'm not surprised you joined her, few people turn down dancing with her, I'm surprised you were so good at it," Max felt a grin tug at his lips.

"Why aren't you dancin'?" He had seen her dance a few times, once when they managed to salvage an ancient radio and a few CD's, that night he and Furiosa danced quietly, losing themselves in the music. She was humming that tune all the next week.

"I was, with her," she remarked, looking back to the circle where the fire was now dying down. Vara was dancing alongside someone adorned with feathers and old coins, lifting them and spinning them as if they weighed as much as a child. The laugher was inaudible, but it showed on every crease of her face, her eyes crinkling and smile lines present. Smile lines, God they were so rare now. What was there to smile about now? Max could number all the things he had to smile about on one hand, but he wondered, if Vara was one of those people who smiled in the face of danger. She seemed like the sort. 

So, Max and Furiosa sat there, perched on a boulder, watching the festivities die down, before Max finally escaped his trance he had entered the moment he saw the horde of dancers.

"This a... normal thing? 'Round here?" He figured Furiosa ought to know, she had been here before, enough times to befriend a political leader.

"It usually happens when a trades' done or a harvest is plentiful... but it's interesting fore sure..." She trailed off, mesmerized by the crackling fire and unconsciously leaning further into Max's space.

"'t's beautiful," Max finished. She could only nod. The dull orange of the dying fire gave her face an eerie glow and accentuating her eyes. 

"Yea, it is," she sighed.

-


End file.
